


First Meeting

by AMarguerite



Series: A Monstrous Regiment [7]
Category: Persuasion - Jane Austen, Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: F/M, First Meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 11:13:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18072365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMarguerite/pseuds/AMarguerite
Summary: Miss Anne Elliot of Kellynch Hall meets Captain Frederick Wentworth of His Majesty's Dragon Laconia during the French Invasion.





	First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [three_flats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/three_flats/gifts).



Sir Walter and Elizabeth had been in London when the French invaded, and did not waste their time returning to Kellynch before fleeing with the rest of high society to Scotland. Somersetshire was too far south. It had or would fall to the French. Duty compelled Sir Walter and Elizabeth to inform Anne of this fact via a groom, who immediately found his elderly mother in the village and departed. And thus Anne was left in sole charge of Kellynch, all the household staff, and all the people of the village and surrounding properties. The note scarcely arrived before the villagers brought news of French scouting parties on dragonback, branching out to establish lines of supply— and for less salubrious reasons. Anne gathered all she could to Kellynch. She set footmen and farmers at each door, armed with what hunting rifles could be found, and kitchen knives. She set the kitchen staff to brewing endless pots of tea, and the household staff to finding beds for all who had taken refuge within the great house.

Then came the sound of wingbeats, and a dragon roar loud enough to rattle every pane of glass in the house.

Anne stood at the window in her room, staring out into the darkness, over the people streaming up the driveway. It was too dark to tell where the enemy was. But she knew, from Lady Russell, and from some injudicious remarks of her father’s, that there were next to no British dragons left. They had been all weakened or killed by some plague.

Anne clutched tight her shawl at her throat. She did not wish to close to doors against any who might need refuge, but she had only so much time before the French came— only so much time to hide the children and the elderly, only so much time to distribute what arms remained, only so much time to fortify the house.

Anne had often felt alone at Kellynch, but never with so many people in it.

The housekeeper’s knock at the door startled her.

“Miss Elliot,” Mrs. Bassett, said, looking grim, “there are French dragons approaching. Mr. Wimbush—” this was the butler “— set one of the stableboys on the roof with a spyglass, and he said there is one huge beast flying straight at Kellynch. It shall be upon us any moment. What shall we do?”

“We need to stop assigning rooms and get anyone who cannot defend themselves into the cellars,” said Anne, staring out at the stream of people. Oh God, it seemed endless. How was she to house them all? How could they get here before the French descended?

“The village cobbler was in the army, miss, in India,” said Mrs. Bassett. “He said we must barricade the doors against the French.”

“How can we?” Anne asked, a little helplessly. “These are our neighbors, Mrs. Bassett, we have known them all our lives. How can I think of barring the doors against them?”

Mrs. Bassett fidgeted with her apron before saying quietly, “If it is a matter of saving some over saving none, miss.”

The glass was cold; Anne leaned her forehead against it, searching for an end to the crowd. “Do not bar the doors yet.”

“Very good, Miss Elliot,” said Mrs. Bassett, in the cool tones that implied she thought one of her employers had just made a terrible choice.

“Is there any better vantage point indoors than my room?” Anne asked.

“Not in the house proper, miss, and I wouldn’t advise you to try the maid’s quarters. The windows are too small for you to see anything.”

“I don’t suppose I could easily manage the roof.”

“No, miss. I’ve maids stationed nearest the window the stableboy climbed out of. Shall I tell them to come find you if he sees anything?”

Anne nodded. Her throat felt too tight to speak.

Mrs. Bassett curtsied and walked off.

Anne pushed up the sash of her window and leaned out, staring up at the heavens.

The stars were bright and cold above her. This was hopeless. What was she even looking for? She had never seen a dragon except for the occasional courier in Bath, or prints in books. Then—

— Anne saw it.

A shadow on the moon at first, before it blocked the moon’s light utterly.

All was plunged into darkness, the lanterns blazing about Kellynch’s gravel drive seeming terribly weak. People began screaming.

“Hurry!” Anne shouted to the mass of people below, her eyes fixed on the huge, dark shape above. She could not keep from barring the doors for very long; the French were upon them.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of something bright yellow and very high. Anne turned to it and in seeing it streak through the darkness, assumed that a meteor was crashing to earth.

‘This might as well happen,’ Anne thought, misery bubbling up within her. The situation was not dire enough as it was— but then came a roar that sounded very much like, “Bugger off!”

The dark shape obscuring the moon then said a variety of words in French that Anne’s dancing master at Bath had used whenever Anne and her fellow students were being particularly stupid. The yellow shape crashed into it, sent it sailing back towards the village, away from Kellynch.

Anne gaped in astonishment.

“You insolent _child_ ,” the dark shape shrieked in French. “How dare you attack me? There is still shell clinging to you!”

“I can take you, grandad!” the yellow creature roared back and then rammed into the dark shape again.

Anne half thrust herself out the window, trying to make sense of this. Both shapes had to be dragons. The larger was French, and the younger was… very idiomatically English. The younger dragon was also about an eighth the size of the older. This was an unwinnable fight.

“Oh just fly south,” said a man in French, his voice barely audible over the screams of the people below, and the wingbeats and snarls of the dragon. “She’ll tire herself out before she can catch up with you. There’s no sense in getting into a fight over _sheep_ . We haven’t _time_ for this.”

The big dragon snorted and flew off, the little yellow one in hot pursuit.

Anne watched them go with worry, and then looked below. The stream of people had narrowed to a trickle. Anne turned and ran into the hall, calling, “Mrs. Bassett, Mr. Wimbush! As soon as everyone is in, bar the doors and barricade them.”

After about a quarter of an hour, one of the maids rushed down the steps, crying, “Miss Elliot! Miss Elliot!”

Anne was directing footmen as they carried the huge walnut dining table out, to turn it on its side against the front door and told herself, ‘The little dragon gained us time; if we get this in place, we are safe.’ “What is it?”

“A yellow dragon landed on the drive, Miss, all sudden like!”

A loud thud, accompanied by the sound of large amounts of displaced gravel confirmed this account, as did a man man calling out, on the other side of the door, “Hallo in there! I’ve come in the name of the king!”

Anne motioned at the footmen to pause—they set down the table in some confusion — and at the butler to unlock the door.

“You cannot be serious, Miss Elliot!” Mr. Wimbush spluttered.

“That aviator may have news, or be injured,” said Anne. “Open the door, please. I will go out and talk to him.”

Mr. Wimbush the butler gawped at her. “Miss Elliot, that is— no! No, you must not go out. Let me go, or one of the footmen.”

None of the footmen looked particularly thrilled at this idea.

“Mr. Wimbush, you may come with me if you are worried,” said Anne. “But I will not deny anyone who comes in the name of the king.”

Mr. Wimbush could not defy a direct order like that. He unhappily unlocked the door.

Anne drew her shawl tightly about herself and forced herself to walk forward. Each step seemed to echo, in the still, utterly silent entryway. She could hear her own heartbeat, wild and unsteady.

Mr. Wimbush opened the door, revealing the handsomest man Anne had ever seen. He wore a leather flying coat over the green jacket of the aerial corps, and had his flying goggles down about his neck, resting in the folds of his cravat. It was a costume perfectly suited to his tall, fine person.

At length, Anne recovered her voice and said, tremulously, “Good evening, sir.”

The aviator had been looking about the hall in mild confusion and then looked down at Anne. He blinked at her in surprise. “Good evening, miss. Is your father here?”

“No, sir,” said Anne. “He was in London when it— when—”

The aviator’s look of confusion shifted instantly to alarm and pity. “Good God! You mean to tell me you are here all on your own?”

His manner reassured her; Anne managed a shy smile and a tentative, “No— not, that is, thanks to you, sir, all the household staff is here, and most of the village.”

“Thank God for that,” he said frankly. “Laconia and I spotted that Fleur-de-nuit about to make sport of your villagers and thought, ‘we can’t have that. Better harry her away.’ That Fleur-de-nuit is raiding a sheep farm some ten miles from here. No one seemed to be there, so we thought we’d leave him to it, and check up on you all. Is— is everyone in? Including the curate?”

Anne was touched by this unexpected kindness, though rather confused that the aviator should single out the curate. “Yes? Mr. Wentworth is in the kitchen, I believe. He is very kindly helping us figure out a way to get everyone some supper while I am occupied here, securing the front door. We are all quite well— oh!” She involuntarily started and jumped back, as a bright yellow, reptilian face appeared at the aviator’s shoulder.

“This is Laconia,” said the aviator, looking up fondly.

Anne flusteredly fell back on good manners and curtsied deeply.

When she rose, the aviator smiled at her, looking pleased and almost... charmed? Anne was not used to charming people. Nor had she thought it possible for the aviator to be more handsome than when she first saw him but oh! How well a smile became him.

“Will you not come in?” Anne asked.

“Only if I may eat,” said Laconia. “I am very hungry.”

Mr. Wimbush _whimpered_. There was no other word for it.

The aviator laughed, however, and reached up to pat Laconia’s scaley yellow cheek, before advancing into the front hall. “She’s only a month out of the shell— she’s constantly hungry.”

“Should she be flying, quite so young?” Anne asked, hastily stepping back, to allow the aviator and the dragon to pass her.

“In the ordinary run of things, no,” the aviator said. “She isn’t even old enough to carry more than one person. But with the French here, every dragon’s needed. If you will point me to the kitchen, I shall trouble Mr. Wentworth to find a spare sheep or goat for Laconia.”

Laconia was about the size of a horse, and trotted in quite daintily, looking around at everyone with interest. Poor Mr. Wimbush looked near fainting as he locked the door.

“I— I am sure we can find something,” said Anne. “And for you as well, Captain….?”

The aviator whirled around to face her. “Oh Lord, I entirely forgot. I am Captain Frederick Wentworth, of His Majesty’s Dragon Laconia."

Ah, thought Anne. Some relation of the curate. That explained things. She curtsied and held a hand out to him. “A pleasure, captain. I am Miss Anne Elliot, of Kellynch Hall.”

Captain Wentworth, to her surprise, did not press her hand, but kissed the back of it. Anne blushed rosily. He met her eyes and said, warmly, “Charmed, Miss Elliot.”


End file.
